


panicking needlessly: the "all of tony's friends all the time" story

by taylor_tut



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton & Tony Stark Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt Tony Stark, Sick Tony, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Tony Stark & Thor Friendship, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 02:17:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16053365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A drabble request from my tumblr for Tony struggling to focus on important information. I chose to give him a migraine.





	panicking needlessly: the "all of tony's friends all the time" story

Tony blinked hard, sitting with his elbows on his knees in the Quinjet and desperately trying to focus on Steve through all the white noise. Was the jet about to blow up, or was he having a panic attack? It sounded like he was listening through a blizzard. Making his ears work harder than they should was making his head throb, which was not what he needed right now. 

“—Right, Tony?” someone asked, he couldn’t hear well enough to recognize the voice but he forced his doubling vision to come together for long enough to see that it was Clint Barton who had nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. 

“Ow,” Tony complained, hoping that maybe that would be enough to distract them from discovering that he was totally spacing out. God, he was really fucking cold. 

“Okay…” So it was Steve talking, he figured out before his eyes slipped back into their hazy, glassy resting state, “...questions?” 

Tony had a lot of questions, but most of them could be umbrella-ed under an eloquent, “yeah, what?”

“Which part?” Steve asked, and Tony shook his head, feeling like the motion might send him tumbling out of his seat altogether if he didn’t hang onto something. The armchair of his seat was something.

Something Clint’s arm was already occupying. 

“Excuse you,” he squawked, tugging his arm away from the sudden groping.

“All’v’it,” Tony slurred, and though he could practically watch the pole shove itself farther up Steve’s ass in his outraged posture at his lack of listening skills, the hands that grabbed his shoulders were gentle.

“Something’s not right,” Clint announced, turning Tony toward him and cupping his face in his palm, expecting but not finding heat. He straightened Tony’s arms out in front of him and put his own hands on top of Tony’s upward-facing flat ones. “Tony, push against my hands,” he instructed, sighing in relief when he was met with equal resistance on both sides.

“What’s wrong with him?” Steve asked, already hovering. He handed Clint a water bottle from the refrigerator, because water always helped, right? Thor returned from the front with now-solemn posture. 

“I’ve alerted the pilot of a need to land as soon as possible,” he said softly, and apparently Tony had skipped the scene in which Clint had gone to medical school and the others had become first-responders, or more likely he’d zoned out again through the Avengers panic-planning a best-guess response. 

“Does your head hurt again?” Clint asked, his voice low and close to Tony’s ear. It did, so he said so. “Damn,” Clint cursed, “a migraine?”

It hadn’t really occurred even to Tony, in his migraine-muddled brain, but that was exactly what was happening. He gave a thumbs up, then held up nine fingers and Clint’s eyes went wide. He’d never seen Tony admit to past a six or a seven on the pain scale, so he must be in really bad shape. 

Steve came back with an airplane eye mask to block out the light. 

“Can we not call Dr. Strange?” Thor asked, distressed by the whimper Tony let out when Clint tried to move his head just enough to get the mask on. “He can teleport.”

“Yeah, but we’re moving, so unless he times it perfectly, he’ll end up getting ground into sausage in the jet engines,” Clint pointed out, and Tony grimaced. 

“Can we not?” he asked, barely managing to separate his words enough to be intelligible. 

“Sorry,” Clint apologized sheepishly. “You have any of your pain meds on the jet?”

Tony wanted to roll his eyes, but that was a bad idea, and they wouldn’t be able to see him anyway (not that that would normally stop him). “Yeah, I’m an addictive personality who keeps opioids in his work vehicle,” he snapped. A bit of clarity was beginning to come to him with the marginal relief from the darkness, but now he was bitchy.

“Well when you phrase it like that, it sounds EXACTLY like something you’d do,” Clint snarked back, earning a middle finger from Tony. 

“We’ll land soon, anyway,” Steve intervened, “and I’ll make sure SHIELD has something waiting for him. 

“Gotta be IV,” Tony added, “otherwise it’ll come back up.”

Steve nodded and included that information in his text to Fury, then helped Tony to recline his seat and took the ice pack Thor had found and pressed it to Tony’s hand, where he wedged it behind his neck.

“Thanks,” he breathed, and though he was too tired to express it, it was aimed toward all of them.

“Just get some sleep,” Clint instructed, “and warn us next time.” 

Tony would try. 


End file.
